


71. Healing

by alley_oops, jennandanica



Series: Citadel: Sam Worthington and Ryan Kwanten [71]
Category: Actor RPF, Australian Actor RPF, Citadel (Journalfen RPG), True Blood RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-03
Updated: 2008-11-03
Packaged: 2018-01-15 14:19:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1307929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alley_oops/pseuds/alley_oops, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennandanica/pseuds/jennandanica





	71. Healing

_**Sam and Ryan[](http://www.journalfen.net/users/kwanten/profile)**_[ **kwanten**](http://www.journalfen.net/users/kwanten/): healing  
 **players only. current. takes place a couple of days after[Ryan gets his nipples pierced.](http://www.journalfen.net/users/kwanten/16877.html)**

For a long time now it's been part of Ryan's morning routine to prep, carefully stretching and lubing up his hole for any activity Sam might want to spring on him throughout the day. And if maybe he sometimes doesn't prep quite as thoroughly as he should, well... masochist. For the last two days his routine has had a new addition, though: carefully cleaning his new piercings. On Dan's orders, it's the only time Ryan touches his nipple rings all day. Which is hard on a guy with a naturally perverse curious streak.

He strolls into the kitchen barefoot and wearing only cargo shorts, riding low on his hips; he found out early that having a shirt rubbing his healing nipples was a fast road to insanity. Cracking eggs into a frying pan he starts to make breakfast, humming under his breath.

Sam's still yawning and stretching when he makes his way into the kitchen, drawn by the smell of breakfast cooking. "Mm. You making me bacon too?" he asks, grinning sleepily, his arms wrapped around Ryan from behind, mouth already on the bared skin of his shoulder.

"Of course." Ryan grins, Sam's morning scruff ticklish on his skin. "Am I that predictable? You might get bored." He turns his head for a kiss.

"Never," Sam grins, kissing Ryan thoroughly, their tongues tangling. "I'm the one who's predictable. Me and my carnivore ways."

"I like you hungry and meat-eating," Ryan teases, nipping at Sam's bottom lip. "Works perfectly for me."

Sam groans softly and his grin widens. "I shouldn't be messing with the chef," he teases, reluctantly stepping away. "You want some orange juice?"

"Yeah, please," Ryan says with a nod. He flips the eggs onto a plate and then slides bacon into the pan, letting it sizzle. "Did you sleep well?" he asks, looking over his shoulder to watch his lover for a moment. "I want you rested before you start working again." It's his job to take care of Sam, and he takes that job seriously.

Sam nods, pulling the carton from the fridge and two glasses from the cupboard. "Yeah. Way better than I did in Australia," he says, pouring juice for them both. Although his OCD's made a comeback and he's not entirely sure what that's about. "What about you? How's everything in the piercing department?"

Ryan chuckles a little. "It's good," he says softly, his gaze drawn downward before he returns his attention to the frying pan. "Getting lonely," he adds, shutting off the heat and preparing two large plates of food.

"Lonely?" Sam puts the carton back in the fridge and moves the glasses to the kitchen table. "Why? Because it's hands-off except for cleaning them?"

"Yeah, exactly." Ryan lays a plate in front of Sam before taking his seat and handing his lover a fork. "I didn't know I'd need this much willpower." They still sting when he touches them, but most of the time he forgets.

"You're not the only one," Sam murmurs, eyeing Ryan's chest and those gorgeous black rings hanging from his nipples. "And I haven't got to touch them at all," he points out. "I'm gonna be crossing off the days..."

Ryan watches Sam, watching him. And his blood starts to hum. "I can't wait until you can bite them," he says softly. "Really abuse them."

Fuck. Sam bites back a groan, his cock filling quickly. "Bite them, pull on them, put you on a fucking leash and tug you around by them," he murmurs, breakfast completely forgotten for the moment.

"Jesus." Ryan's eyes widen. "Like I don't follow you around enough?" he jokes, except to him, it's not really a joke. Okay, so it's something he's been worrying about. A lot.

"No, you don't," Sam grins. "If I really had my way, I'd keep you in my trailer all the time."

"Chained up in the corner?" Ryan asks. Fuck if the idea doesn't turn him on way more than it should, still. "I'd keep you drained, though," he says, his gaze dropping to Sam's lap for a second. "You wouldn't have the energy to work."

"Oh, I think I'd find it," Sam says, pushing his chair back and crooking his finger at Ryan. "You'd just feed the fire."

Like that, Ryan melts to his knees, the movement as natural to him as breathing.

Sam leans forward, running his fingers in circles around Ryan's nipples, as close to the rings as he dares.

Ryan shivers, the touch electric. It sparks through him and he shuts his eyes, leaning closer.

Unable to resist, Sam brushes his thumbs over Ryan's nipples, over the very tips, careful to avoid the rings, the actual piercings. "Soon..." he promises. "I'm gonna get my teeth on these and I'm gonna make you scream."

 _God. Yes._ Ryan whimpers a little, imagining it. He opens his eyes and looks up at Sam, his gaze bleary with lust. "Hurt me," he whispers, his cock rock hard now, straining against the seam of his shorts. "Please?"

 _Christ._ Sam nods. "I want you on your feet. Get rid of the shorts and put your hands behind your head," he orders, arousal coiling tight in the pit of his stomach.

Ryan rises fluidly to his feet and kicks his shorts off. He clasps his fingers together behind his head and the movement pushes out his chest, leaving his nipples vulnerable to every breath of air.

Sam takes a good long look at Ryan. His boy. His lover. Who looks like a fucking Greek god like this. Slides his hands over his stomach, _thisclose_ to his nipples, as he stands, before pulling away and opening drawers. Sure they've got an amazing playroom upstairs but when his boy asks to be hurt in the kitchen, that's where he's going to get hurt. Sam's lazy like that. He pulls out a wooden spoon, a hard plastic slotted one, a flat cheese grater, some sharp rolling thing which he thinks has something to do with pastry and a spatula, dumping them all on the counter.

Ryan swallows hard, staring at the array of implements. Sam's creativity is boundless and never fails to amaze him. His cock gives a throb of anticipation, pulsing with blood, and he feels his skin start to crawl.

Toys chosen, Sam moves the pile to the table beside Ryan, his plate pushed out of the way for now. "I expect you to keep your hands where they are," he tells him, picking up the spatula first. "If they drop, you won't be coming until we're in New York."

New York! Ryan blanches. Yeah, that's motivation to keep his hands put, all right. "Yes, Sir," he murmurs, clasping his fingers together tightly. Of course he knows that, with a statement like that, Sam will probably _try_ to make him drop his hands.

Smiling, Sam lightly smacks the flat of the spatula against the side of Ryan's cock, alternating sides every few smacks and moving up and down the length.

Ryan gasps, then bites down on his bottom lip. It doesn't hurt, not really; Sam's taking it easy on him to start. But it sends sparks of warning through his body, setting his heart racing.

"Look at that," Sam murmurs, loving the way Ryan's cock jerks at every smack before moving back into place, almost like it's seeking out the spatula. He slides the utensil between Ryan's thighs, bringing it up against his balls and giving them a few smacks before returning to his cock. Covering every fucking inch.

All right, Ryan's definitely warming up. And it would be downright _embarrassing_ that this keeps him so fucking hard... if it weren't obvious that Sam loves it. That makes everything okay.

The spatula gets replaced with the wooden spoon and Sam hits a little harder but he's still taking things pretty easy. For him. Overlapping hits as he moves the spoon up and down Ryan's cock.

Ryan hisses and spreads his thighs wider. He grits his teeth and shuts his eyes, focusing on every strike. Feeling it throughout his body.

"Did I say you could close your eyes?" Grinning, Sam gives Ryan's balls a couple of smacks with the back of the spoon.

"Fuck. No, Sir," Ryan spits out, jumping a little. He flicks his eyes open to watch Sam, breathing hard. Trying to gauge what's coming and knowing he can only guess.

"Good." Sam smacks Ryan's balls again then sets the spoon down on the table, trading it in for the plastic slotted spoon. But he doesn't strike right away, instead wrapping his fingers around Ryan's cock and stroking firmly.

Ryan whimpers, bucking once into the touch. There wasn't any danger before of him getting soft, but now Sam is making absolutely certain of it. He chews on his lower lip, watching Sam's hand on his cock.

"Slut." Sam's fingers tighten, squeeze almost to the point of pain and then pull another couple of demanding strokes along Ryan's length before finally letting go, the hard plastic brought in against the side of that rigid flesh a mere second later. And again. One side and then the other. The warm-up long over.

Ryan's shout bounces off the walls. He has to remind himself to open his eyes back up but he can't watch. Jesus, not this -- he can't take knowing what's coming. He focuses on a point on the horizon, the waves of the ocean rolling up outside the window. And a low moan breaks from his lips as fire coils tight in his gut.

Sam alternates between cock and balls, the hits to the latter only slightly softer than those to the first. His eyes locked on Ryan's face, on the pain washing across his features, each shout, each jerk of Ryan's cock only fuelling his arousal - and his sadism.

God, Ryan wishes he were in cuffs for this. It's getting tougher and tougher to keep his hands up, clasped behind his head. Hell, it's getting hard just to stay on his feet. His whole body is starting to throb, oblivion beckoning.

Another half dozen blows and Sam switches instruments again, the spoon set down and the cheese grater picked up. Ryan's cock is a dark angry red at this point, the veins standing out, the tip wet despite the inflicted pain. "Dirty boy," Sam murmurs, holding the edges and scraping the flat of the grater across the top.

" _Fuck!_ " Ryan nearly loses it right there. He looks down in horror then snaps his gaze back up, trying to keep his shit together. "Oh god oh god oh god," he whispers frantically, dizzy with pain and lurking fear.

Sam chuckles and runs the grater right over the tip.

Ryan howls, then lets loose with a string of curses that could set Sam's ears on fire. The fine teeth of the grater are ruthless against his most vulnerable flesh, and at this rate his cock will be out of commission, too. Tears spill over Ryan's cheeks and he falls to his knees, unable to keep his feet any longer.

Fuck. Sam's cock throbs so fucking hard he'd swear he's going to come right there and then. But instead he nods, pulls up a chair in front of Ryan and takes a seat. "I'm impressed," he says. "You didn't drop your hands." He sets the grater down on the table and picks up the pastry wheel, running the edge over his thumb, the bite surprisingly sharp.

Ryan moans, watching him. His head is swimming, endorphins fighting to take over and drown him. But he can't let go entirely -- not when he's working so hard to hold his posture.

"You look so good like this," Sam murmurs. "On your knees, tears running down your cheeks, your cock so fucking hard you're dripping..." the side of the wheel tapped against the head. "Making such a mess..." And a little harder.

"Please," Ryan gasps, and then has to lick his lips before he can speak again. "Please let me put my hands down, Sir." He doesn't know why he's even asking; he knows the answer already.

Sam shakes his head. "Not a chance," he says, placing the pastry wheel at Ryan's chestbone and drawing it downwards, slowly, the pressure increasing the lower he gets, closer and closer again to its main target.

"Oh, god." The suspense could kill. Ryan winces as the bite gets sharper. He peeks downward, and yeah -- his traitorous cock is still hard. That fuckin' erection isn't going anywhere until Sam finally lets him come.

Sam grins and runs the wheel along the length of Ryan's cock. "Better or worse than the grater?" he asks, letting it dig into the crown, the metal into the slit.

"B-- ahh!" Ryan jerks, dissolving into curses again. He gasps, trying desperately to catch his breath. "If I say better," he asks, eyeing Sam warily, "are you going to pick up the grater again?" That thing fucking scared him.

"Maybe," Sam grins, eyes sparkling. "Or maybe I'll reward you for telling the truth."

Ryan groans, sure there's no way to win. "No more grater, please," he begs. He's still burning from the last time.

Sam laughs. Christ, Ryan has him wrapped around his little finger. "Stand up," he orders, pushing his chair back, "and lean over the table. You can put your hands down, but I want you spreading yourself for me."

"Yes, Sir," Ryan breathes. Christ, is that relief? He gets to his feet and groans as he finally moves his arms, stiff muscles protesting. He clears dishes out of the way and drops his chest to the table, reaching back to take hold of his cheeks and spread them wide.

"No more cheese grater, right?" Sam says, setting down the wheel and taking up the slotted spoon again.

"Yes, please," Ryan asks. Oblivious.

Good. Sam hits Ryan's hole with the back of the spoon, carefully avoiding his fingers.

"Fuck!" _Not_ what Ryan was expecting. He grits his teeth against the sudden wash of pain from this new quarter. Then he takes a deep breath and firms up his stance.

"Dirty little slut," Sam murmurs, leaning in, one hand braced on the table as he slaps Ryan's hole again and again with the spoon, watching it clench with each wave of pain.

Tears leak from Ryan's eyes. He rocks forward with each strike, his cock rubbing against the table's edge until he can't even think anymore.

Christ. Done with the spoon, Sam turns it around and places the handle against Ryan's hole, pushing it into him.

Ryan shouts, slamming forward. In the next instant though, he's shoving back, hungrily taking the handle deeper.

But Sam's not finished yet. He lets Ryan fuck himself on the handle for a minute or two and then stops, letting go of it, and picks up the spatula, smacking the flat of it against the back of Ryan's balls.

"Fuck fuck fuck!" Ryan clenches tight, sparks flashing through him. His fingernails dig into the flesh of his ass. He's in agony, but he has no safeword anymore. "Mercy!" he begs, his cheek wet against the hard wood of the table. "Please, Sir! Have mercy on your boy!"

"Not yet," Sam says, slapping Ryan another half dozen times with the spatula before reaching under him, fingers wrapping around his cock and stroking hard.

Ryan howls and bucks into Sam's hand. His cock is fucking on fire, but Sam's touch is practically a caress now compared to what came before. "Please!" Ryan begs desperately, pleasure rushing through him with the force of an oncoming train. "Please...!" His control is in shreds. He dissolves into his climax with a full-body shudder, hopelessly trying to the last to hang on.

Sam groans, Ryan's cock pulsing in his grip, wetting his fingers, his own jerking violently against the zipper of his shorts. "Don't you fucking move," he tells his lover, stroking him through every last aftershock. "You keep your ass spread for me, boy."

"...Sir," Ryan mumbles, reeling. He knows instinctively that he fucked up, but everything else is too intense right now for guilt to rear its head. Yet. He firms up his slipping grip on his ass.

"That's it." Sam wipes his hand on his shorts and frees his cock, stepping between Ryan's legs to rub the tip against his hole and around the end of the spoon. Slapping the head against Ryan's spread cheeks between strokes, sheer willpower the only thing that's holding him back at this point.

"Sir," Ryan moans, unable to take any more teasing. "Sir, please!" he begs, his body rigid and clutching at the handle. "Please. Fuck your boy!"

"No." Sam shakes his head and comes all over Ryan's ass, thick stripes of hot white coating his skin.

 _Oh. God._ Ryan feels every spatter like it's a brand, searing his flesh. "Sir..." he whispers, feeling like a broken record. "Please. P-- permission to touch."

Sam pulls the spoon from Ryan's ass before nodding, dropping the implement to the floor. "Go ahead."

Breathing a sigh of relief, Ryan lets go of his ass. Only to dip his fingers in Sam's come and spread it around, pushing some into his raw hole.

Sam grins, his breath catching at the sight. Ryan is so fucking hot. "That certainly isn't what I thought you had in mind."

"No?" Ryan groans, pushing himself up on the table. He turns around and takes Sam in his arms, laying his head on his lover's shoulder. Exhausted. "Something more like this, maybe?"

"Yeah," Sam nods, holding Ryan close. "Love you," he murmurs, wishing he didn't feel so torn over whether to punish him.

"Love you," Ryan echoes in a whisper. He's got no idea of Sam's inner turmoil; he broke the rules and he expects to be punished. Simple as that. So long as his lover isn't actually angry with him, he can handle it. Right now, he's too drained to care anyway. He nuzzles Sam's throat, soaking up his lover's warmth.

Sam smiles, enjoying their closeness, the issue of punishment shoved aside for the moment. "We never got breakfast," he says, chuckling softly. "Want to go have a nap and then we'll start over?"

"It'll be cold," Ryan points out. Not arguing in any way, though. A nap sounds divine.

"I'll clean it up and make us some more," Sam says, already easing Ryan towards the stairs.  



End file.
